


Coming Up Roses

by fitz_y, imafriendlydalek



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Court-mandated community service, M/M, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, punching nazis is totally okay, steve rogers should only ever be allowed to wear tiny t-shirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 23:16:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13623552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitz_y/pseuds/fitz_y, https://archiveofourown.org/users/imafriendlydalek/pseuds/imafriendlydalek
Summary: The world’s most beautiful creature, clearly God’s (Darwin’s) gift to mankind, is standing right in his path as if he’s been waiting for this moment, for Tony to walk into his life.Okay, Tony really needs to stop letting Happy talk him into watching Downton Abbey so often.“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Tall, Blond and Gorgeous says with a 1000-watt smile. An arm is stretched out towards Tony, a red rose in his hand.What the hell? Is he dead? Has he died and gone to heaven? Unlikely - he’s pretty sure that, if there is an afterlife, he’s not going up in the clouds. Is he being Punk’d?





	Coming Up Roses

**Author's Note:**

> This only took us a year to write :-D

“You don’t have anything slightly larger?” Steve asks in what he thinks is a polite tone of voice.

“Sorry, man,” Clint, the volunteer coordinator, says with a smirk that says he’s anything but sorry.

“But this is a women’s medium. And it has a fluffy velvet heart right in the center!”

“And right under the heart it says Shield Home for the Elderly. That way people will recognize you’re on staff. It’s vital for some of the residents that all staff be clearly visible.”

“Can’t I just … wear scrubs or something?”

“Don’t have any extras. C’mon, man, it’s Valentine’s Day, get in the spirit. It’s not my fault you chose to do your mandatory community service on this important national holiday. At least you’re not picking up trash on the highway. Also, they said they were gonna send us a girl called Darcy, so we ordered the shirt accordingly.” He crosses his (quite impressive) biceps and stares up at Steve. “What are you in for, anyway?” he asks after another minute. 

Steve really doesn’t want to go down this route. “Fine, I’ll wear it.” Steve sighs and takes the _women’s medium_ white shirt with a fluffy heart and goes to the bathroom to change.

When he comes back, Clint is holding a clipboard and surrounded by a gaggle of eye-rolling teenagers. Steve waits, expecting an assignment.

“Hey muscles,” Clint calls over, “can you, ah, play guitar?”

“No,” Steve says slowly.

“Ah, damn. Guess I’ll have to play accompaniment for the choir here. In that case …” He looks Steve over, coldly assessing. He then reaches behind the desk and pulls out a bucket of red roses. “In that case, you can at least stand out front and hand out roses.”

“Pardon?” 

“It’s Valentine’s Day. Go stand by the door and give a rose to every visitor. And wish them a happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Okay, let me just get my coat. It’s like forty degrees out there.” Steve gestures toward the break room where he’d locked up all his valuables.

“Oh, yeah, no, nevermind. You can just do it in the lobby.”

 

***

There are few days of the year Tony hates as much as February 14 (okay, just about all of mid-December takes the sucky cake, but Valentine’s Day is definitely up there). He and the gossip rags have silently come to some sort of truce where they stop fabricating ridiculous rumors about him as long as he gives them something salacious every so often, but if he doesn’t show his face in public on Valentine’s Day with a hot date in a hip club, well, cue the fake news word mills.

It’s one day a year, though, only one day he has to play the part of the person he used to be, so he can deal with it. 

He’s decided to spend the morning doing what _he_ wants to, his own sort of Treat Yourself Day, which means bagels at Best Bagels out on Long Island (as the name suggests, they really are the best), a stop at the Tesla Store on 25th Street to pester the poor employees with questions they couldn’t possibly know the answer to (call it his way of getting back at Elon for punking out on that electric jet they were going to work on together), and finally, a visit to his favorite Aunt Peggy.

He parks his R8 in the garage around the corner from the home - there’s no way he’s leaving that car out on the street in this neighborhood - gives the garage attendant a few bills to keep an eye on it, then makes his way across the street. 

He’d offered to pay for Peggy to live in a nicer home, but she was having none of it. This was plenty fancy for her, she’d told him, and besides, she’s lived in Brooklyn so long she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. That woman has a stubborn streak a mile wide, Tony thinks fondly as he steps over a slushy puddle, and he loves her all the more for it.

He pulls his sunglasses off his face as he steps into the lobby, the warm air hitting him like a wall, and that’s when he sees him.

The world’s most beautiful creature, clearly God’s ( _more like Darwin’s_ ) gift to mankind, standing right in his path as if he’s been waiting for this moment, for Tony to walk into his life.

Okay, Tony really needs to stop letting Happy talk him into watching Downton Abbey so often.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Tall, Blond and Gorgeous says with a 1000-watt smile. An arm is stretched out towards Tony, a red rose in his hand.

What the hell? Is he dead? Has he died and gone to heaven? Unlikely - he’s pretty sure that, if there is an afterlife, he’s not going up in the clouds. Is he being Punk’d? 

“I … I don’t like being handed things,” Tony squeaks, shoving his sunglasses back on his nose as he tries to push his way past Adonis to the archway to the residential wing. He’s nearly there when he hears Peggy’s voice behind him, just barely audible over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.

“Which is why it’s a good thing I like it enough for the both of us.”

She slings an arm around Tony’s elbow, sidling up to him as she accepts the rose from Adonis. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, ma’am,” Adonis responds, fumbling in the plastic blue bucket he’s carrying. He pulls yet another rose out and hands it to Peggy. “And this one’s for you.”

She accepts it and then turns to Tony and places one of the – long-stemmed, mind you – roses in his breast pocket. It flops over and hits him in the head. “Well, thank the volunteer, Tony, and then invite him to have a coffee with us. Erma says he’s been standing out here for four hours patiently giving away roses to all the visitors. But that’s enough, don’t you think? Even community service workers deserve a break,” she says before putting the remaining rose in her teeth and sashaying off. Tony blinks.

Adonis is rubbing his hand over his neck and grinning at Tony like they’re in on some joke. “I think Erma’s the one who comes in for another rose every ten minutes. Every time she acts surprised. I thought she had … you know, memory problems.”

_Like anyone could forget you,_ Tony thinks as he eyes the way that ridiculous t-shirt stretches across the vast expanse of his chest, hugs the downward curve of his waist and bulges around some impressive biceps. Damn.

“So,” Tony starts instead as he attempts to tug the rose out of his shirt without looking like a total loser, “what’re you in for?”

“Hmm?” Adonis asks.

“Peg says you’re doing community service. What’d you break? Or is that rude to be asking? If it makes you feel any better, I’ve done my share of community service over the years. Public drunkenness usually. I grew out of that, though,” he’s careful to add.

“Oh, ah, I- resisting arrest,” Adonis stammers. “And battery,” he adds quickly, as if hoping to be misheard.

“Really?” Tony eyes the guy, his neatly combed hair, his khakis creased as sharp as a ruler. “Wholesome-looking fella like yourself, you don’t look the type.”

He shrugs, not looking the least sorry. “They had no right to be arresting people. We were just exercising our right to peaceful assembly.”

Tony’s mind flashes back to the human rights rally that had been all over the news a few months back. It had started out peacefully enough, until some counter-protesters had showed up and started throwing bricks. 

“Besides, that guy has _known_ ties to the American Nazi party.”

Tony smiles in admiration and decides not to push the matter any further. Punching Nazis is a-okay to do in Tony’s book.

“So, knowing my dear Aunt Peggy, she going to hound me until we spring you from this place and get some coffee in you, so there’s really no need to even try resisting. Just point me in the direction of whoever’s making you wear that ridiculous shirt and I’ll negotiate terms of release.”

“I, uh, that’s not-” Blondie looks thoroughly (beautifully) flustered, but Tony levels him with a no-nonsense glare. Blondie points towards the common room. “In there. Guy with the purple shirt.”

*** 

Ffffp. Ffffp. Ffffp. Ffffpfffpfffp.

Steve pauses in the doorway, trying to identify the pitter-patter of furious wet thuds coming from the break room. Without thinking, he throws a hand out to stop the guy – the charmingly handsome, way-out-of-Steve’s-league guy.

“Oh, hello,” the guy says as Steve’s hand collides with his solid arm. “Yeah, okay. That’s totally a good place for your hand.”

The heat of a blush rushes up the back of his neck, but Steve keeps his hand where it is and peers into the room. At least until he knows it’s safe. The noises have stopped and it appears to be empty, although some files and two steaming coffee mugs are spread out across the countertop.

“Hello?” Steve calls. “Um, Clint?”

Ffffp. A miniscule white ball no larger than a pebble flies out of a half-opened closet door, lands somewhere behind a cabinet.

“Ow.”

“Clint?”

“Yeah, yeah, right here.” Clint steps out from where he must have been crouched behind a large filing cabinet. “Just, um, cleaning the floorboards back here. What can I do for you, man?”

Next to him, the guy rocks backs on his heels. And Steve belatedly drops his hand. “Cleaning floorboards with a straw?” The guy gestures to the object clutched in Clint’s hand. “Or engaging in a spitball war? With whoever’s hiding in the closet? My money’s on Romanoff if anybody cares.”

Clint shrugs. “So?”

“So, I won’t report that, frankly, horribly unsanitary action I just witnessed if you give ... “ he turns to Steve. “What’s your name, Handsome?”

“Uh … “ Steve swallows. Why is his throat closing up? “Steve. My name’s Steve.”

“Steve.” He draws out the sound of Steve’s name like it’s taffy. “Nice to meet you. I’m Tony, by the way.”

Tony directs his attention to Clint again. “If you give Steve here a 30-minute coffee break.”

Clint crosses his arms over his chest. “No way, man. He has to do mandatory community service. Sixty hours of it. The judge didn’t give him community service so he could sit in our cafeteria drinking coffee with hotshot billionaires who think they can just show up and order people around everywhere they go.”

“You’re Clint, aren’t you? Natasha told me about you, that you’re a stickler for the rules with all the mandatories. I’m thinking maybe you resent them all because you didn’t get off so easy? Did three years for theft, am I right?”

Clint narrows his eyes at him and looks like he’s considering shooting a spitball right in Tony’s eye. “Yeah, before they figured out it was actually my _brother_ , and I was exonerated. And besides, that doesn’t stop me from being a good volunteer coordinator and events planner here at SHIELD.”

“Never said it did. But it does mean that Steve here should be treated like an employee. And in the state of New York, employees are entitled to a thirty-minute break between 11 and 2 if they’re here more than six hours. And, oh look.” He makes a show of pushing up his sleeve to check his watch, which looks like it probably cost more than Steve earns all year. “It’s 1:30.”

At that moment a red-haired woman in all black sweeps into the room. “Just let him take a coffee break, Clint,” she says, moving over to the countertop where all the paperwork is spread out. 

“I’m not even going to ask how you got from the closet to the hallway,” Tony says.

“Good. Now stop bothering us and go get your coffee, Stark.”

Stark?! Steve’s eyes shoot up at the name and wow, now he sees it. Yep, that’s Tony Stark, the guy who wants to take him out for coffee. (With his aunt. Steve’s going to try not to read too much into it.)

Tony seems to catch him staring, since he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow as if to say “got a problem with that?” before he gestures for Steve to follow. “Come on then, Steve. You heard the nice lady. Coffee time.”

“Thirty minutes, Rogers. A minute longer and I’ll have to report it,” Clint warns.

“Yes, sir,” Steve acknowledges.

Tony’s already halfway out of the closet, as if he doesn’t want to waste any of those thirty minutes, and Steve decides it’s best to follow before Clint changes his mind. He also decides it’s best not to wonder why _Tony Stark_ has decided he, of all people, is interesting enough to take out for coffee, or even what kind of weird alternate world he has somehow ended up in where his mandatory community service has turned into him going out for coffee with one of the richest men in America. Probably in the world, actually.

Nope. Instead, he turns all his thoughts to getting his jacket while Tony goes to collect his aunt. Better change the shirt too, he thinks as he reaches for his coat and feels the shirt stretch ominously as if it might tear if he makes any other movements than just standing.

Which is how he ends up with his arms above his head, tangled in a tiny shirt that he seems to be stuck in, when Tony sticks his head into the break room looking for him.

***

“You all se– hell-OHHH!” Christmas was a few weeks ago, and his birthday is still a while off, but damn, Tony must have been doing something right to warrant this gift. 

“I appear to be stuck.” The words are muffled by the fabric, and Steve is flailing his arms in the air slightly in the most endearing way possible.

“The selfish asshole in me wants to leave you, because I am quite enjoying this view,” Tony admits as he steps toward Steve, “but I did make a resolution to be kinder, so … may I?”

He stops before touching the shirt, waiting for permission.

“Please.” Steve sounds a mixture of amused and exasperated. Tony can work with that.

“You know, despite what they say,” Tony says as he tugs at the shirt, taking care not to pull too hard as the seams start to creak, “I usually wait until _after_ coffee to get my dates out of their clothes.”

Steve chuckles softly, folding the shirt carefully and laying it on the shelf of his locker. “You take your aunt with you on all your dates?”

He looks up at Tony from his half-bent position, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Oh hell, there should be laws against that sort of thing, Tony concludes as his stomach does this weird swooping thing he hasn’t felt in a _really long time_.

“Only the good ones,” he shoots back, then holds out his crooked elbow for Steve to take. “Shall we?”

Steve points to his locker. “Clothes first, Tony.”

“Right. As much as I want to say that’s not necessary, I think the state would disagree, and you’re probably not itching to add public nudity to your rap sheet. Plus I may be toeing some sort of line into creepy harassment zone, so I should really just be quiet now. Besides, it’s February and we’re in New York. Clothes are not optional.”

***

Tony Stark is ridiculous, and yet Steve has half a mind to blow off the rest of this day at SHIELD if it means spending more time with him.

“It’ll take more than just the promise of a cup of coffee to get me out of enough clothes to qualify for public nudity,” Steve says as he pulls on his sweater.

Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m willing to invest at least a warm lunch, possibly even a dinner. In Paris. Or maybe Kobe? You like steak?”

Now that he has his jacket on, Steve slips his hand under Tony’s arm. “Let’s start with coffee for now, huh?”

Tony smiles. “Yeah, sounds good.”

***

Steve’s thirty minutes of freedom go by way too quickly. Tony and Peggy are a riot, bantering back and forth between them. Peggy’s ribbing Tony light-heartedly for inane things like his outfit and more serious matters like a recent business deal, Tony is deflecting like a pro (well, he _is_ a pro) while also flirting thoroughly unabashedly with Steve.

So is Peggy, actually, but at 87 she’s a bit out of his demographic.

Tony, on the other hand, is very much within Steve’s demographic.

Tony walks them back to Shield with three minutes to spare, pretends not to watch as Steve wiggles himself back into that stupid fateful t-shirt, and blocks the doorway until Steve agrees to go on a second date. 

Steve only pretends to hesitate to accept.

He has no remorse the actions that resulted in him getting court-mandated community service - pushing Nazis is totally okay, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. In fact, right about now, with Tony standing just that side of closer-than-necessary as he types his number into Steve’s phone under the name “You know who I am.” Steve’s really glad for his choices.


End file.
